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Amoretti: Sonnet 86 Post by :johneze Category :Poems Author :Edmund Spenser Date :March 2011 Read :6434

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Amoretti: Sonnet 86

Since I did leave the presence of my Love,
Many long weary dayes I have outworne,
And many nights, that slowly seemd to move
Theyr sad protract from evening untill morn.
For, when as day the heaven doth adorne,
I wish that night the noyous day would end:
And when as night hath us of light forlorne,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile,
That further seemes his terme still to extend,
And maketh every minute seem a myle.
So sorrowe still doth seem too long to last;
But ioyous houres do fly away too fast.

(The end)
Edmund Spenser's poem: Amoretti: Sonnet 86

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Amoretti: Sonnet 87 Amoretti: Sonnet 87

Amoretti: Sonnet 87
Since I have lackt the comfort of that lightThe which was wont to lead my thoughts astray,I wander as in darknesse of the night,Affrayd of every dangers least dismay.Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day,When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne,But th'only image of that heavenly rayWhereof some glance doth in mine eie remayne.Of which beholding the idaea playne,Through contemplation of my purest part,With light thereof I doe my self sustayne,And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart. But with such brightnesse whylest I fill my mind, I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd.(The end)Edmund Spenser's poem:

Amoretti: Sonnet 85 Amoretti: Sonnet 85

Amoretti: Sonnet 85
Venemous tongue, tipt with vile adders sting,Of that self kynd with which the Furies fell,Their snaky heads doe combe, from which a springOf poysoned words and spightfull speeches well,Let all the plagues and horrid paines of hellUpon thee fall for thine accursed hyre,That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tell.In my true Love did stirre up coles of yre:The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre,And, catching hold on thine own wicked bed,Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspireIn my sweet peace such breaches to have bred! Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward, Due to